boy problems

8

I held the white pills in my hand, staring at them and not being able to make a decision.

"Hell."

I grumbled and then I dropped them in the toilet and flushed them.

I sighed and let my knees go weak. I slid to the ground and put my head in my hands. What the hell is wrong with me?

"You okay?"

I looked up to see my dad standing at the doorframe of the bathroom with his arms crossed over his chest.

I pursed my lips, shrugging.

My dad frowned as he stepped in and walked over to me, coming down to sit beside me. We both leaned our backs against the shower door.

"Want to talk about it?"

I leaned my head down on his shoulder. "Boy problems."

He let out a small laugh. "Your mom would be a lot of help right now. I—I always worried about when you'd get to the age where you'd have boy problems and needed your mom to talk to, not me."

"I can always talk to you, dad." I spoke softly.

He sighed deeply. "I know. Whose ass do you want me to kick?"

I snorted, shaking my head. "Nobody—it's fine."

"